Killian followed the Jeep that carried Charlie away, keeping pace while remaining out of sight. The camp didn’t have a lot of exterior lighting, probably to keep its existence secret. The wooded areas ended, and he was forced to jog behind and between buildings to keep Charlie and the others in sight, but he managed it. Moving rapidly and all but silently, he managed it. And finally the Jeep stopped, and he crouched a few hundred yards away, concealed by shadows, far from their range of sight or hearing, keeping his presence masked even from Charlie by drawing an invisible shield around himself. He could see and hear them perfectly.
And what he heard sent a chill straight to his bones.
He couldn’t see the image on the cell phone as the Lieutenant showed it to Charlie, but it must have been a convincing one, and he could feel her reactions. Devastation. Guilt. Grief. Her mother was dead, the Lieutenant had told her. And then he’d shown her proof.
When the idiot went on to blame her mother’s murder on him, when he finally convinced her it was true, Killian felt the hatred that emanated from Charlie like a shockwave. It hit him full on, rocking him almost off his feet. And then something in her changed. Hardened, closing around her like a shell, one he could no longer penetrate. The only thing she allowed to come through it was fury and rage, all of it directed at him.
“Give me the damn drug,” she’d said. “How long will it take to make me strong enough to kill him with my bare hands?”
Sickened by the force and purity of her anger, Killian staggered back the way he had come. Within moments, he heard Roland and Rhiannon, shouting mentally at him. Instead of replying, he sprang over the fence, landing hard on the other side, letting his knees buckle, and staying where he landed, bent on the forest floor, not even trying to summon up the will to move.
They were standing over him in seconds, Rhiannon looking furious. “We agreed to do reconnaissance first! To make a plan! You could have ruined everything by jumping in there that way,” she whispered.
“Everything is already ruined.”
“What are you talking about?” Roland asked. He came closer, put a hand on Killian’s shoulder. “What happened in there, Killian?”
He shook his head slowly, but kept it level, at least. “That jackass who took Charlie just told her that her mother is dead and that I’m the one responsible.”
Rhiannon’s face darkened. He saw it and was glad that storm cloud expression wasn’t directed at him. Beside her, as always, the panther Pandora seemed to sense her anger, and emitted a soft, truncated growl. “No granddaughter of Roxanne’s would be gullible enough to believe such an outrageous fairytale.”
“Horror tale,” Roland said. “Did she, Killian? Did she believe?”
Killian nodded. “He showed her something on his phone. Her dead mother, I presume. Told her there was an eye witness who identified me from a photo.”
“Everyone knows we can’t be photographed,” Rhiannon said.
“Charlie doesn’t,” he said. “And whatever she saw on the cell phone must have been pretty convincing.” He looked from Rhiannon to Roland. “Do you think her mother is really dead?”
“I think we’d better find out,” Roland said.
“The Lieutenant told Charlie that Roxy is missing, and that I’m the most likely reason for that, too.”
“Roxy isn’t missing, she’s waiting for us at the farmhouse.” Rhiannon frowned, sending a look at Roland that turned from fury to concern. “At least, she’s supposed to be.”
“We’d better get back there,” Roland said. “We’ll figure the rest of this out once we’ve ensured Roxanne is all right and checked into this claim about Charlotte’s mother.” He clapped Killian hard on the shoulder. “Take heart, my friend. She’s young, she’s mortal, and she’s crippled with grief at the moment. The truth will be revealed, and she will see it.”
He nodded. “She said something else...something that worries me even more than her believing I would murder her mother. She said, ‘I’m in. Give me the damn drug.’ And then she asked how long it would take to make her strong enough to kill me with her bare hands.”
Roland sent a horrified look at Rhiannon.
A muscle worked in Rhiannon’s jaw as if she clenched it. “DPI is up to its old tricks again, isn’t it? They’ve always loved playing mad scientist. Experimenting on vampires. And on The Chosen.”
“We can’t let them do that to Charlie. She’s nobody’s guinea pig,” Killian said.
“We’ll stop them,” Roland said. “But tonight, it’s not an option. She saw you and now believes, no matter how temporarily, that you killed her mother. She’s going to tell them you’ve been here. And they’re going to come looking. We have to go, Killian. Find Roxy, make a plan, and return. If they find us, there will be no one to save your Charlotte.”
He couldn’t argue with them. They were right. He was surprised the forest wasn’t crawling with searchers already. They took flight, all three of them, pushing their bodies effortlessly to speeds beyond human ability, but not beyond Pandora’s, arriving near the farmhouse a short while later. But not at it. What they saw stopped them before they made it that far. Roxy’s pickup truck with its nose wrapped around a large tree. There wasn’t a piece of glass remaining in the thing.
“Good gods,” Rhiannon whispered.
Roland held up a hand. “You two stay back. I’ll get a closer look.”
“To hell with that.” Killian pushed past Roland’s outstretched arm and walked right up to the pickup. He was furious. Roxy had been kind to him, had saved his life, given him shelter, taken him in. These bastards had taken her? The same bastards who had taken Charlie and maybe even murdered her mother? No way was this going to go unanswered. No fucking way. Lieutenant Townsend was going to have his ass thoroughly kicked before Killian drained him and left his sorry dry husk for the crows. He didn’t give a shit that the man was also one of The Chosen. He would find a way.
He kept watch around him, kept his senses open, but didn’t cower or hide. Let them come for him. Let them try to take three immortals if they were stupid enough to think they could.
“That’s all well and good, Killian, but they have the tranquilizer,” Roland said. He’d come up beside Killian without a sound, startled him a little. “They dart us, and it’s over.”
He met Roland’s eyes, knew the man was as angry as he was. Maybe not enough to broadcast his thoughts at full volume, but still–
“You should shield your mind,” Rhiannon said, from his other side. “There are a few humans who can pick up on vampiric telepathy. No point taking undue risks.”
“He had no one to teach him, Rhiannon,” Roland said. “He might not know how.”
“Of course,” she said. “Killian, imagine an impenetrable wall–”
“I know how to block my thoughts,” he said. And he did, but only because Roxy had told him. “I was angry. I slipped. And I know about their tranquilizer. I was darted with it, after all. Roxy has an antidote.”
“Had an antidote,” Rhiannon said, looking at the truck.
Killian turned his focus back to the pickup. Its contents, all the things they’d packed and loaded from the cabin in the woods, were scattered all over the road, computers smashed, not a weapon in sight. “Those windows didn’t break in the accident. They were shot out. Look.” He pointed at the bullet holes that riddled the truck’s body. Then he leaned inside to look around, expecting to see Roxy dead inside, and probably poor Olive with her. But the driver’s seat was empty, the cage door open. Olive must have escaped. There was a scent though, and there was no mistaking what it was. “There’s human blood in the truck,” he said. “Roxy’s blood. She must have been shot.”
Roland was walking along the road, looking at the skid marks, the torn up shoulder, the piles of spent bullet casings.
“Her handbag is still inside,” Killian said, reaching in to get it. But as he did, he spotted the phone, just one corner sticking out from under the seat. Frowning, he pulled it out, tapped
it to bring it back to life. The screen lit, and the most recently used app was still open. Voice Memo. He clicked on the latest recording and heard gunfire, and Roxy’s voice.
“They’ve got me, Killian. They won’t kill me. Been wanting to study The Oldest Chosen for a long time. You leave it be and get Charlotte. I mean it, Killian. Tell our friends I’ve got time. Get Charlotte away from these DPI bastards.”
He turned, holding up the phone to tell Roland and Rhiannon about the message, but he saw by their stunned expressions that they’d heard it. Of course they had. They held his gaze for a moment, then got back to work, inspecting the crash site.
“Take anything important,” Rhiannon told him, looking around, almost sniffing the air. “This happened very recently. They might send back a team to collect all of this. We need to move the vital things and leave the rest. Keep the place looking as undisturbed as possible. No point announcing our presence.”
Killian nodded and took Roxanne’s purse, dropping the phone inside, then thinking better of it. What if they’d left the phone deliberately, hoping he would take it so they could track its signal?
He deleted the message and put the cellphone right back where he’d found it. Then he went through the inside of the truck. He looked up every few seconds to watch Roland, who was walking from one pile of bullet casings to the next. Bending, he picked one up, then frowned and went to examine another and another. “Four shooters,” he said. “If they’d wanted to kill her, she’d have been dead.”
“We should check the farmhouse,” Rhiannon said softly. She wasn’t examining the scene the way they were. She was, instead, keeping her back to them, every sense scanning the tree line in all directions and the road as well. Watching their backs. “It’s a few more miles. Maybe they still don’t know about it.”
“I don’t think we can count on that,” Roland replied, but he also nodded his assent that they ought to check it.
The three of them scoured the debris, gathering up a laptop that looked to be in one piece, the cooler that contained Roxy’s remaining supply of blood in sterile plastic bags bearing red crosses on them. They found a few weapons, some under the truck’s seat, and a few in the bed.
While they were gathering things up, Olive soared silently down and landed on the truck’s hood, blinking and looking around, probably for her friend.
“We’ll find her, Olive. Don’t worry.” Killian spoke with his mind as well as his words, unsure whether the owl could understand either of them. “Come with us, okay?”
They returned to the woods to get out of sight, leaving the scene and Roxy’s poor truck looking pretty much exactly as it had before. To Killian’s surprise, Olive flew overhead, keeping pace with them until the farmhouse came into sight. Then she flew straight to it, landing on the roof and hooting repeatedly. “Apparently, Olive’s been here before,” Killian said.
After scouting the area thoroughly, minds wide open to sense any living presence and determining there were no humans about, they made their way to the farmhouse to join her. It was situated in the middle of a meadow that was alive with wildflowers and the nodding heads of yellow grasses heavy with seed. The woods ended where the meadow began, a wide open expanse they would have to cross to reach the house. As soon as they started in that direction, Pandora took off ahead of them, leaping through the meadow grasses toward the house as if she knew that was where they were going. The three vampires made their way more cautiously. They walked inside the woods that bordered the meadow. Then they ducked low, using the tall grasses for cover until they were directly behind the house to keep out of sight from the road. Still, they sensed no one.
Killian looked at Rhiannon when they reached the rectangular, white house’s back door. Her eyes were intensely focused as she felt for any presence, human or otherwise. He’d been doing the same.
She gave him a nod, reassuring him that she wasn’t sensing anyone either, and so Killian took the keys he’d pilfered from Roxy’s bag and started trying them in the locks. Three keys, three locks, and they were inside.
Something swooped out of nowhere, damn near taking off his head, and Killian ducked fast, arms raising up to fend off the demon.
But it was only Olive, whose target had been the black panther, not him. Pandora crouched, then sprang onto her hind legs batting at the bird as it swooped again.
“How the hell did she get in here?” he asked, looking around and deciding there must be a window open somewhere on the second floor.
Pandora’s tail swished in agitation as Olive landed on the back of a chair and stared unblinkingly at her.
“Pandora,” Rhiannon said, her tone sharp and authoritative. “Olive is a friend.”
The cat looked from the owl to the woman, then back to the owl. She licked her lips.
“Friend,” Rhiannon said sharply.
The cat looked her way again and gave a short, sharp growl that left no doubt as to her feelings on the whole “friend” matter. She clearly had been hoping to have owl cutlets for dinner. Hanging her head, she laid down and sighed.
“You’ll be safe, Olive,” Rhiannon said, speaking directly to the owl.
The barred white bird looked at her, blinked twice, once with each set of eyelids, and then hooted. Then she launched herself from the chair with a heavy push of powerful wings and swept through the kitchen, into another room and out of sight.
“I’m not sure having those two in the same house is a very good idea,” Killian said.
Roland opened the fridge, the cabinets, but Killian saw only empty shelves behind the doors. “Pandora always obeys Rhiannon,” he said, “though she doesn’t always like it. Don’t you, cat?”
The cat chuffed at him almost indignantly.
“Precisely.”
“No humans have been in this house since the last time Roxanne herself was here,” Rhiannon said.
Killian walked through the house. It was in good repair. Dusty, with no sign of recent habitation. A warped dining table in need of refinishing and a few folding chairs occupied the dining room. The power was on and the water worked, hot and cold.
He continued on to the second floor, found an open panel in the hall ceiling that led into the attic, and jumped easily through.
There were some boards, a few loose bricks, an antique trunk, some pieces of pink insulation. And on each end, a round window, one facing the road, the other facing the meadow and the woods behind the house. The front window had a broken pane—that, he presumed, was how the owl had made her way inside, though it must have been a squeeze, and not, he thought, a very safe one. He worked on the window until he could pull it free from its frame, making a safer passage for the owl. Then turning, he whistled just the way he’d heard Roxy do it.
He didn’t think it had worked until the owl flew up and joined him in the attic, balancing on a beam and blinking down at him.
“I took the window out for you,” he said, and he poked his hand through the opening to show her. “You can come and go as you please, and if there are mice up here, they’re all yours. Also, there’s no way for Pandora to get up here. I don’t think she can jump high enough. So you’re safe and sound.”
She just stared at him, but he knew she was understanding, because he felt her gratitude.
“You’re welcome.” Then he went back to the opening and jumped down through it into the hallway.
Rhiannon and Roland were at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him, “So what’s our next move?” Killian asked, heading down the stairs and taking a seat on a nineteenth century radiator as tall as Olive. “How are we going to get Charlie out of there if she thinks we’re all killers?”
“We might have to take her against her will,” Roland said.
“Then that’s what we have to do. As long as we get her out of there.”
“And we will, Killian,” Roland said. “But I need to talk to you about something else, if you’ll indulge me.”
Killian gave him a nod and hoped he??
?d be brief.
Roland went on. “In a few days, a band of rogue vampires is going to arrive here in the states, and they’re going to make all the government’s lies about us look like a weak prequel. They’re out for blood, Killian. Human blood.”
“You mentioned that,” Killian said. He was willing to listen but not for long.
“They want to wage war on mankind,” Rhiannon said. “They want vengeance for every vampire those bastards murdered in twenty-eleven. Frankly, I don’t disagree with them.”
“They’re led by someone named Devlin, you said.”
“And he’s a brutal bastard,” Rhiannon raged. “More dangerous than I had realized. He murdered every human in a small village near where we’ve been staying, then headed here to do more of the same.”
“Devlin and his gang total seventeen,” Roland said.
“Sixteen, in truth. Larissa is with them but working for me. Keeping me informed,” Rhiannon explained. “They found a faster ship, she told me most recently. They could be here already, for all we know.”
“And there are only two of us to stop them,” Roland said. “Three, if we can count on your help.”
Killian nodded, taking it all in, but still having only one goal on his mind. “I’ll help you. Of course, I’ll help you. I’m one of you.” God it felt good to say that. To know it. “I’ll help you with this rogue gang and anything else you need,” he promised. “But only after Charlie is safe.”
His eyes were beginning to feel heavy. He glanced at the window in alarm.
“Dawn approaches,” Rhiannon said. “As much as it pains me to say it, Killian, we must sleep. The day will pass, and we’ll begin again.”
“Dammit!” He searched Rhiannon’s eyes, then Roland’s. “You’re right that I know nothing of my own kind, that I had no one to teach me. Tell me that in all this time, all these centuries, you’ve found some way to resist the day sleep.”
Roland sent a sideways glance at his woman. Her eyes flashed just a little wider. “There is a drug,” he said. “My friend Eric Marquand created it. But there are side effects.”
“It makes you aggressive and violent,” Rhiannon said. Then she winked at Roland. “And amazing in bed.”
“I nearly killed you, my love.”
“But what a way to go.” She gave him a sexy smile that made Killian feel like he ought to leave the room.
“At any rate,” Roland said, after clearing his throat and tearing his eyes off Rhiannon, “we have none of it on hand, so the point is moot. We sleep. And await nightfall.”
At eight a.m. Charlie was wearing the cargo pants and tank top that seemed to be the uniform here and sitting on the edge of a cot in the sick bay. The other cots were empty. She was the only patient in the place.
LT stood nearby. She’d have liked Mariah there for moral support, but she was with her unit on the firing range this morning. Charlie wasn’t sure she was going to like this military lifestyle bullshit, but she knew she would like the strength and the power the others had. And if there was a cure, she’d like that, too.
But mainly, she wanted vengeance on the vampire who’d played her for a fool and then murdered her mother.
Do I really believe that, though?
Pictures don’t lie, she thought, answering her own question.
Her mother. As many times as she’d resented the overprotectiveness, the hovering, the smothering, Charlie had always loved her mom. And now she’d been taken from her, violently and cruelly, for no reason whatsoever.
“Relax, dear. It’s not good to take the treatment during emotional times. Try to let it all go.” The man who spoke was so pale he had to be either sickly or an albino wearing tinted contacts. He wore a white coat that wasn’t much lighter than his skin, and he prepared a spot on her arm with an alcohol wipe, then stuck her with a needle and inserted an IV line. She assumed he was a doctor, then decided that it was stupid and ignorant to presume anything.
She’d presumed that Killian’s feelings for her were real. And that her grandmother’s crazy, off the grid lifestyle and booby traps and escape routes were unnecessary and ridiculous. And that her mother was perfectly safe from the boogie men of childhood nightmares.
She’d been wrong on all counts.
“I thought it was just a shot,” she said.
“It’s a little more involved than that,” LT said. “But not a lot.”
The “doctor” taped the IV line to her arm, then went to the clear plastic bag of fluid hanging from its pole beside her and made adjustments, talking as he did. “We’ve found that the formula is too powerful to inject directly. So we’ve altered our delivery method. Now we give the first dose slowly over a longer period of time. Two hours seems to be the minimum. After that, two booster injections and a chemical that makes your blood impossible for–”
“Let’s get started,” LT said.
She wanted to ask about side effects, and what it was going to feel like, and how the hell they found out it was too powerful to inject directly and what happened to those recruits who’d been given the drug that way.
But more than any of those things, she wanted to rescue her grandmother before Killian, or someone else, killed her, too. She wanted the chance to apologize, to admit she’d been wrong to run away and cause all this chaos. Roxy had done nothing but try to help her, even if she had trusted the wrong side. And now because she’d tried to help her, she was imprisoned by monsters. Maybe even dead.
Charlie wanted the cure and the power that came with it. And then she wanted out of here. Because once her grandmother was safe, she had another mission on her mind. Revenge.
“I’m ready,” she said, then she eyed LT. “But I’m holding you to your promise. I get to go home long enough to bury my mother.”
“The arrangements are already being made, Charlie.” He put a soothing hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, what happened to her.”
“It’s entirely my fault,” she told him. Then she watched as the bone-thin doctor picked up a huge syringe filled with something the color of root beer and injected it into the saline. Deep brown-red swirls of liquid invaded the clear fluid, twisting and twining. The doctor removed the needle, shook the bag a little bit to mix it better, then checked the flow. She followed his eyes, spotting the steady drip-drip of the brown colored liquid, and then following the flow down the tubing and into her arm.
She swore she felt the first drop that entered her body. A warm sensation that seemed to travel up her arm, along the highway of her vein.
“Lie back, Charlie. Relax.” LT put a hand to her forehead to ease her back onto the pillows. Dr. Deathly was fiddling around near her right wrist, and she glanced down just as he buckled a leather strap around it.
“Hey, whoa, that’s not even–”
“Stay still, Charlie.” She’d sat up fast but LT pressed her flat again, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t fight it. This is for your own protection.” He held her still while the doc buckled a restraint around her other wrist, and then one around her chest, once her arms were imprisoned and unable to fight.
“This is bullshit. You didn’t tell me about this–” Something hit her heart like a wrecking ball, and then white heat engulfed the center of her chest. It knocked the fight out of her as she lay there, wide eyed. “Oh, God, what is this? What’s happening? LT, what is this?”
“It’s all right. I know it feels alarming. But this is how it is with everyone.”
Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it reverberating through her body. She could feel it pounding from within. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. Take the needle out. Stop the IV. I withdraw consent.” She kicked at the IV pole, but it was out of her reach, and the only result was that LT grabbed both her legs and held them while the doctor strapped them down.
“Easy, Charlie. It will pass.”
Her pulse was thrumming in her ears. Inside her head. Deafening. Painful. And her entire body was engulfed in that odd w
hite-hot sensation. “I’m dying, I’m telling you, it’s killing me. I’m allergic or something.”
LT was looking a little alarmed himself, sending the doctor silent questions with his eyes while the doc watched the monitors that were supposed to show her heart rate and God only knew what else. The lines were a series of sharp spikes like the blades of a saw. Way too close together, shooting higher and dipping lower than she thought was normal.
“You’re killing me. I’m telling you, you’re killing me!” She strained against the bonds holding her down. The room began to shake. Instruments fell off of tables around her as a red haze clouded her vision. A dull roar filled her ears.
“She’s strong, LT muttered, holding onto the bed as the entire room quaked. “Stronger than any of them.”
“We’re going to have to tranquilize her,” the doctor shouted, coming at her with another syringe. He plunged it into her shoulder just as she broke the restraint on her opposite arm, reached around and gripped his wrist, squeezing until he dropped to his knees. Then she plucked the needle from her arm and flung it.
LT grabbed her free arm and pinned it back down. “It’s not working! Get something stronger, dammit!”
The doctor got up as LT climbed onto the table, straddling her, his legs pinning her legs down, his hands on her arms. That pale faced medic held one arm bent at the elbow, his hand close to his chest and dangling loosely from his bruised wrist. He scrambled to a locked cabinet while Charlie thrashed and tried to throw the lieutenant off of her, twisting her head from one side to the other. Sounds were coming from her body that were not her own. They weren’t even human sounds. Growls, snarls, deep and powerful. LT was sweating. “Hurry, up, dammit!”
Finally the doc came back and sank yet another needle into her arm. She tried to pull away, twisted her head and snapped her teeth at his hand but couldn’t reach.
And then her body seemed to deflate like a balloon. She went limp and her mind turned languid. She let herself drift away, because it was easier than fighting. She was dying. She was going to be with her mother again.
LT got off her, watching her carefully. She could still see him, but he was hazy. Her focus was off.
“It’s working. What did you give her?”
“The vampire tranquilizer.”
LT frowned. “Shouldn’t that kill her?”
“It would have killed a normal BD. But she’s not. I’ve seen a similar reaction to BDX only once and not this strongly. Before we acquired the subject, he had nearly bled out due to an accident, and his vampiric protector had fed him from his own veins.”
Vampiric protector? What does that mean?
“We knew this, of course, so we were prepared for his reaction to BDX to be different. His strength would’ve been enhanced by the preternatural blood. According to my calculations, a subject with vampiric blood in his veins would react in one of two ways. He would either die on the table or he would survive and become the strongest BD-Exer on the team. Possibly the strongest human being alive.”
“A super weapon against the Undead.”
“Or a dead one,” the doctor said. “That first subject didn’t survive the transfusion. And the rest is no more than an unproven theory.” He looked at Charlie, and she saw a hint of sympathy in his bone china face.
She struggled to form words, sought LT’s eyes. “LT–Lucas....stop the...IV. Please. I’m dying.”
He didn’t answer.
The doctor’s voice came from very far away. “I recommend we stop the IV, Lieutenant Townsend.”
LT stared into her eyes for a long moment and said, “She’s different from that former subject,” he said softly. “She’s the only descendant of the oldest living BD. She’s special. Stronger than any of them, even without the blood of one of those animals coursing through her veins. Get a fresh restraint for the right arm. Get another dose of the tranquilizer ready to go, just in case, and crank that IV flow up as high as possible. We’re giving her all three doses, right here, right now. She can handle it. And we need her ready to fight.”
“No,” she whispered. “no, please...please–”
But the doctor hustled, first to a drawer to pull out a fresh leather strap for her arm, which he handed to LT. Then, as Lucas buckled it tightly around her arm, anchoring it to the bed, the doc went to the cabinet for another needle full of vampire tranquilizer, which he laid on a tray nearby. “What about the additive?” The doctor asked.
“Just the BDX,” LT barked. “Now.”
The doctor brought two more syringes full of the drug they were pumping into her–BDX–and injected them into her IV bag. Then he bent to the IV’s digital panel, and started pushing buttons.
The drip drip of the rusty fluid became a stream, and the heat inside her body was cranked up to full power and burned as if there was acid running through her veins. She screamed and screamed, and the pictures of peaceful landscapes fell from the walls in the sterile white room, as if earthquakes had suddenly ravaged each setting.
“More of the tranq,” she heard LT order. “And don’t forget to harvest the usual samples once she’s out. They’ll be the best of the crop.”
Chapter Twelve